Cave Interlude #1

Three prehistoric hominids struggled up the ridge through the howling winds and falling snow.  Dressed crudely in rotting skins, each carried an assortment of spears, which were no more than long sticks with pointed ends hardened by fire.  They hurried as fast as they could, and often looked with fear over their shoulders, because something was pursuing them.  Further down the valley, two large lions with oversized teeth sniffed casually at the man tracks, and licked the small drops of blood on the snow.  In wild bloodlust they were habitually following this easy food up the mountain, but without much motivation, for they were already well fed.  Eventually they shook their thick coats in lazy dismissal, and turned to go back down to the river where it was warmer, and the prey was plentiful.  There were still fresh kills to finish.

The three men were taking no chances.  They pressed on with the grim vitality of desperate survival.  They followed a creek up into the crags where few trees grew, but stayed on the ridge above to avoid the predators, if possible.  They had already lost two of their hunting party, and one of the three remaining was injured badly, and was trying hard to keep up with the others.  To fall back was to die.  Adrenaline was still coursing through their veins from the unfortunate encounter with the lions back at the river, where the bodies of their fallen comrades lay.  Step after excruciating step, winding up the snowy ridge, they sought to put as much distance as possible between them and their pursuers.  Fatigue was starting to numb their minds when they crossed a large, frozen glacier.  This high up, the snow lay in deep drifts that rarely melted; even though the climate was slowly warming in the Northern Hemisphere.  Huge chunks of ice loomed blue and cold in the overcast light.  Finding no shelter in the frigid basin, they pressed on.

Erok, the strongest one of the group, had assumed the role of leader after his older brother died in the jaws of the lions.  He had no remorseful thoughts or emotions; he simply had to continue living.  They had been forced up this canyon by two of the lions that broke off in pursuit, and they could not go back down.  They were no match for the larger predators that roamed the broad river valleys, where plentiful game was still to be found.  Their strategy was very simple: to survive on whatever they could eat, and try to avoid being eaten, until they could join up with the other members of their dwindling tribe at the big fork of the river to the south.  No one he knew had ever been in this area before.  Crude tales around primitive campfires spoke only of an Unknown Land in the interior, from which no hunter had ever returned.  Erok sniffed the cold air and grunted to his companions, Meer and Gorp.  He pointed up what looked like a pass leading south.  Gorp had several deep bite marks on his shoulder that wouldn’t stop bleeding.  All three of them ignored the injury, it was not a priority.  The most important thing was to find shelter away from the lions, preferably in a defensible spot, where they could make a fire and rest.

They crossed a ridge and straggled down to another glacial mass of ice, colder than the first one but with a hint of shelter at its edge in what looked like a small patch of thin trees.  The snow had let up, but it was getting dark.  Gorp was falling farther behind.  Erok and Meer glanced back, but made no effort to help him.  He would either die, or he wouldn’t.  That was the Way.  When they reached the trees, they found little in the way of shelter, but it would have to suffice.  They all knew what to do without talking, for it was getting dark, and without fire they would die.  They spread out, hoping to find firewood of any kind, or else they would have to burn their spears.

It was Meer who found the cave.  He called the others, and together they looked at the dark opening in the snow.  Gorp had an armful of small sticks, and Erok dropped the large branch he had been dragging.  He hurled a large stone into the opening, and it disappeared with a clatter.  Nothing came out, and there was no sound.  He stooped under an overhanging rock, and could barely see a space inside large enough for the three of them.  The others followed, and soon all the fuel they collected was inside and Gorp got his fire kit out.  He unrolled a crude leather bag and removed a small, split hardwood stick that he held between his feet.  He wiped off a long, straight willow branch, and placed its blackened end in a depression on the hardwood.  The others watched anxiously, snapping small twigs and sticks in eager anticipation.  Gorp spat on his palms and deftly rubbed the hard drill between them with a brisk, downward motion.  It squeaked and spun in its hole.  He grimaced, and shifted his injured shoulder lower.  He spat and drilled, spat and drilled, until it seemed as though the darkening shadows would swallow them whole, and then finally a tiny thread of smoke appeared.  Right away, he shifted position – regardless of the pain from his wounds – and crouched down to blow gently on the tiny spark.  He bunched a few of the fine shreds of bark he always carried around the spark, and blew repeatedly, with great urgency, coaxing the small ember to light the bark.

It went out.

Whining with frustration, Gorp immediately shifted position to resume drilling.  As always, to give up was to die.  He had trouble holding the small base between his numb and bloodied feet, so Erok got on his hands and knees in a supplicant position, and held the stick down firmly on the floor of the cave with his stiff fingers.  All three men were deeply intent on the spot where the drill twirled in the base.  Spit, drill.  Spit, drill.  Gorp’s hands were like desperate animals that no longer seemed to be part of his body.  Finally, the smoke came back, and this time Gorp continued drilling with the last of his energy, until he slumped over, completely spent.  Erok ignored him and took over, his attention entirely focused on the smoke.  He knew enough to offer the tiny bark shreds to the smoke, but his blowing technique was clumsy and unfocused.  Then a small flame leapt up!  Whining now in his anxiousness, Erok plucked a tuft of grimy hair from his head and offered it to the flame, which consumed it hungrily.  Meer pushed a few small twigs closer, and soon they had a smoky little pile of sticks.  Gorp turned over with effort, and waved them away.  He arranged the little sticks in a teepee, and added slightly larger ones with frostbitten fingers that were impervious to burns.  The fire grew larger, and with visible relief, they all settled into their places around the life-giving warmth it gave.

Erok put one end of the branch into the coals, and arranged his spears close at hand.  It looked like they might live to see another day.  He was exhausted and hungry, but at least he was no longer cold.  He and Meer ate handfuls of snow from around the opening.  There was just enough light to go outside and gather what fuel they could find to get them through the night.  Gorp stayed inside, faded and still like a pile of old skins.  The others could not help him.  If he was still alive in the morning, that would be the Way.  If not, he would be breakfast.